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"This my friend, Hilda Mason. She's a dear girl but a little shy, aren't you, Hilda?" "That's just because I told her that we ought to wait until you remembered us," the slighter young woman, with the very obvious peroxidised hair, protested. "Didn't seem to be any use waiting for that," her friend retorted briskly. "Hilda and I are dying for a cocktail, Mr. Romilly."
At her third summons the door was cautiously opened by a large, repulsive-looking woman, with a mass of peroxidised hair. She stared at her visitor first in amazement, then in rapidly gathering resentment. "Mr. Joseph is at home," she admitted truculently, in response to Pamela's inquiry. "What might you be wanting with him?" "If you will be so good as to let me in I will explain to Mr.
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